Secrets of the Heart
by AngelaMay234
Summary: A young man leads a double life, fixing as many problems as he creates. Promises are broken, secrets spilled. The past repeats itself as their paths cross. AU.


_I wanted this to be the 50th SoN story published on the site, but I guess 48th is close enough. Not sure how often I'll be updating; haven't had much in the way of creative thinking lately; too stinking bored._

* * *

_'The dreams are coming more frequently, and as always, she's in the middle, the cause of the misfortune my father has often warned me about.'_

He set the quill aside, turning to the window. The stained glass panes were thrown aside, letting in the last of the summer breeze, though the warmth did little to ease the tension stirring in his heart. Dark clouds were building by the mountains, all but blocking the scarlet glow of the setting sun. The valley below was bathed in fading gold, peasants and nobles alike mingling in the crowded square. But the peace hadn't always existed. Indeed, just a few years ago, the commoners had lived in fear, their blood payment for even the smallest infraction.

That was when the old king had been killed, the dark magic keeping him in power destroyed by a mysterious young mage. To this day, nothing was known about them, only that they had found the true ruler, a young woman whose family had been slain by the tyrant. Then they'd vanished, saying their role in the kingdom was no longer needed.

_'I don't know if this is tru_e,' he picked up the quill. _'But I know my father wouldn't say such things lightly. Something's wrong, if only I could find out what.'_

A heavy knock sounded on the door. A young servant peeked in, his round face red from exertion.

"Your Highness," he bowed quickly. "Your mother's calling for you."

The prince sighed. The queen had called increasingly in recent days, yet refused to say what was bothering her.

"I'll go," he closed his small journal. "Where can I find her?"

"Out in the garden," the boy bowed again. "Near the maze."

The halls of the castle were bright, every drape pulled aside. The rough gray stones were covered by tapestries, scenes depicting great battles, and portraits of past rulers. The last one was his father, hung by the great doors to the throne room. A dark square of stone was visible above, where the last king had placed his image. He remembered when it had been removed, how the gilded frame was stained with blood, the stench of paint and parchment burning into ash. Every trace of the man had been erased, in hopes his followers would never reveal themselves.

"Mother?"

The queen stood by the maze, plucking the petals from a white rose. Her slim fingers barely missed the thorns, as she tossed the beheaded bloom to the ground.

"Justin," she turned to him, her aging face stern. "I've been waiting."

"Forgive me," he came closer, bowing to kiss her ring. "Why did you send for me?"

"You know your father's been away for a long time," she started toward the maze.

"Indeed," he followed her. "But what does that have to do with me?"

She stayed silent, heading to the center. A pair of statues stood by a large fountain, petals from the maze settling in the clear water. She stopped, twisting the handkerchief in her hands.

"He came upon another kingdom," she said. "And was killed."

"What?" he couldn't believe it. "When did this happen?"

"Just a few days ago," she swallowed. "The man who did it thought they were thieves."

She bowed her head, a single tear falling from her eye. He watched the display, wondering why she wasn't falling to her knees, crying out as she had when is brother was killed. Still, he thought it better to leave her, going back the way they'd come.

(******)

"Please, sir, leave me alone!"

"Come on," the man laughed. "Spare something for a lonely old man?"

"I don't have anything for you," she exclaimed. He moved closer, reaching for her.

"You have your beauty," he said. "And I the promise of a pleasing night."

She resisted the urge to strike him, instead turning away.

"Come on, Timmy," she gripped her brother's hand. "We're done here."

The young boy obeyed, nearly running to keep up.

"What'd that man want?" he asked. She shook her head.

"Nothing," she said heatedly. "Just a drunk looking for company."

They were in the square, buying what little food they could. Their father, a poor bookmaker, was at home with their siblings, doing what he could to distract them from their hunger.

_All this because he isn't noble..._

Their mother had been from a wealthy family, having met their father by chance while running from thieves. It had been late at night, a violent storm brewing in the clouds. She'd hidden in what she'd thought was an empty cottage, only to find a cheerful fire blazing in the hearth. A young man sat in front of it, turning when he heard the lock click. She'd apologized for intruding, only to have him insist she stay the night. A year later, they'd wed in secret, only to be found out when her father discovered she was pregnant. He'd thrown her to the streets, saying he'd help care for her new family. This lasted until the third granddaughter, when he severed any and all ties to the family. He'd claimed it was because he couldn't afford the monthly allowance, that he'd fall into poverty himself if he continued to help them. A few months later, he'd vanished.

"Father?" she opened the door to their simple home. "Father, we're back!"

"Elizabeth!"

Jonathan came from the bedroom, four-year-old Cynthia in his arms. A fresh bandage was wrapped around her leg, the best they could do without his brother's help. Ages had shamed his marriage, saying he was only after her family's money. Like his father-in-law, the man had disappeared several months after Cynthia was born. Jon came closer, embracing his oldest daughter.

"Any trouble in the market?"

"Just the same men looking for companions."

He sighed, watching as she set the small basket on the table. She reminded him so much of Felicity; her long curled hair, crystal blue eyes and gentle voice. But where she should've been soft, she was hard, toughened by years of hardship. It didn't do anything to shadow her beauty, however, judging by the many young men that had begged for her hand.

_It'll break my heart to see her go, _he thought. But he knew she couldn't stay forever. Sooner or later, she'd fall in love, marry, have her own family.

"Father?"

He shook his head. She was staring at him, concern in her eyes. Cynthia had fallen asleep, her head resting on his chest. He could feel her ribs through her dress, biting his lip to keep from breaking down.

"I'm just thinking about what this life has done to us," he said quietly. Elizabeth sighed, gently taking her sister from him.

"We all know you're doing the best you can," she cradled the toddler. "Get some rest, you've earned it."

"You're so much like your mother," he touched her cheek. She gave a sad smile.

"I know how much you miss her," she gripped his hand. "We all do."

He brushed her bangs aside, kissing her forehead.

"I just wish I could offer you a better life, the one you all deserve."

"We're thankful you can provide this much," she pulled away. "It isn't much, but it's enough to keep us alive."

He gazed at her a moment longer, then slipped into the bedroom. It was half of their small house, five thin mattresses spread across the dirt floor. They were stuffed with straw, clothed in threadbare covers, barely enough to stave off the cold. He lay back, hands beneath his head, wondering how much longer they could go on.

(******)

Elizabeth sat by the hearth, watching the thin stew boil in their small iron pot. It was barely enough for three, let alone the six of them. Her stomach growled, reminding her of the meal she'd skipped the night before. She'd split her share between Cynthia and Timothy, claiming they'd needed it more.

_It still feels like we just lost mother, _she sniffed, wiping her eyes. _I can't lose them, too._

The door opened. Martin walked in, two rabbits slung over his shoulder. At twenty, he was the oldest, and by far the biggest. Whatever strength their father had lost through the years, he seemed to have gained, his muscles threatening to tear through his patched clothes. He ran a hand through his hair, blonde like their mother's, blinking as his brown eyes adjusted to the dimness.

"Where is everyone?"

"Asleep," she said quietly. "I don't know where Teresa is."

"She's in town," he pulled off his quiver, setting it and his bow by the door. "Taking care of clients."

She cringed at the scorn in his voice. Teresa was fourteen, working as a lady of the night. She wasn't proud of it, saying it was the only thing she was good for. Martin thought differently, claiming she enjoyed every minute.

"You know that's not true," she scolded him. He scoffed, slapping part of his catch on the table. He drew his hunting knife, carefully skinning the small rabbit.

"If it's not true, why does she spend all those coins on herself?"

She had to admit he was right. Whatever money Teresa earned she spent on clothes and jewels, keeping them in a room she rented in town. She watched as his finished, setting the pelt aside.

"How's Cynthia?"

"Doing better," she added wood to the fire. "It hasn't gotten infected."

He cut small chunks of meat, adding them to the pot.

"As if grandfather abandoning us wasn't enough..."

"Uncle didn't abandon us," she retorted. "He just..."

"Just what?" he glared at her. "Just left because he felt like it? Because he thought we were old enough to care for ourselves?"

"I don't know," she shied away. "I just..."

He calmed, sighing heavily.

"I'm sorry, Elizabeth," he rubbed the back of his neck. "I didn't mean to snap."

"It's okay," she touched his hand. "You're stressed, we all are."

"I still can't believe they did that to us," he cleaned his knife. "Abandoning us when we needed them most."

"We all knew Grandfather's help wouldn't last forever," she covered the stew. "And Uncle never liked the fact Father married a noble."

"It shouldn't matter we're poor," he stabbed the table. "We're family; they should be there for us."

"We can't worry about it now," she wiped her hands on her dress. "There's too much we have to do."

"I know," he went to the door, grabbing an ax. "So let's get it over with."


End file.
